CHAPTER III

Love of War—Schinner—Pension from the Pope—The Labyrinth—Zuinglius in Italy—Principle of Reform—Zuinglius and Luther—Zuinglius and Erasmus—Zuinglius and the Elders—Paris and Glaris.

Zuinglius immediately engaged in the zealous discharge of the work which his vast parish imposed upon him. Still he was only twenty-two years of age, and often allowed himself to be carried away by the dissipation and lax ideas of his age. A priest of Rome he was like the other priests around him. But even at this period, though the evangelical doctrine had not changed his heart, Zuinglius did not give way to those scandals which frequently afflicted the Church. He always felt the need of subjecting his passions to the holy rule of the gospel. A love of war at this time inflamed the quiet valleys of Glaris where there were families of heroes—the Tschudis, the Walas, the Æblis, whose blood had flowed on the field of battle. The youth listened with eagerness to the old warriors when they told them of the wars of Burgundy and Suabia, of the battles of St. James and Ragaz. But alas! it was no longer against the enemies of their liberties that these warlike shepherds took up arms. They were seen, at the bidding of the kings of France, of the emperor, the dukes of Man, or the holy father himself, descending from the Alps like an avalanche, and rushing with the noise of thunder against the troops drawn up in the plain. A poor boy named Matthew Schinner, who was at the school of Sion in the Valais, (it was toward the middle of the latter half of the fifteenth century,) singing before the houses, as young Martin Luther shortly after did, heard himself called by an old man, who, being struck with the frankness with which the child answered his questions, said to him with that prophetic spirit with which man is said to be sometimes endowed when on the brink of the grave, “Thou art to be a bishop and a prince.” The expression sunk deep into the young mendicant, and from that moment boundless ambition took possession of his heart. At Zurich and Como the progress he made astonished his masters. Having become curate of a small parish in Valais, he rose rapidly, and being sent at a later period to ask from the pope the confirmation of a bishop of Sion, who had just been elected, he obtained the bishopric for himself, and girt his brow with the episcopal mitre. This man, ambitious and crafty, but often noble and generous, always considered any dignity bestowed upon him as only a step destined to raise him to some still higher dignity. Having offered his services to Louis XII, and named his price, “It is too much for one man,” said the king. “I will show him,” replied the bishop of Sion, offended, “that I am a man worth several men.” In fact he turned towards pope Julius II, who gladly received him, and Schinner succeeded in 1510 in linking the whole Swiss confederation to the policy of this ambitious pontiff. The bishop having been rewarded with a cardinal’s hat smiled when he saw that there was now only one step between him and the papal throne.

Schinner’s eye was continually turned to the cantons of Switzerland, and as soon as he there discerned any man of influence he hastened to attach him to himself. The pastor of Glaris drew his attention, and Zuinglius soon received intimation that the pope had granted him an annual pension of fifty florins, to encourage him in the cultivation of letters. His poverty did not allow him to purchase books; and the money during the short time that Ulric received it was devoted to the purchase of classical or theological works, which he procured from Bâle. Zuinglius was now connected with the cardinal, and accordingly joined the Roman party. Schinner and Julius II at last disclosed the end which they had in view in these intrigues. Eight thousand Swiss mustered by the eloquence of the cardinal-archbishop, passed the Alps; but famine, war, and French gold obliged them to return to their mountains without glory. They brought back the usual results of these foreign wars,—distrust, licentiousness, party spirit, all sorts of violence and disorder. Citizens refused to obey their magistrates, and children their parents; agriculture and the care of their flocks were neglected; luxury and mendicity kept pace with each other; the most sacred ties were broken, and the confederation seemed on the point of being dissolved. The eyes of the young curate of Glaris were now opened, and his indignation aroused. He raised his voice aloud to warn them of the abyss into which they were about to fall. In 1510 he published his poem entitled “The Labyrinth.” Behind the windings of this mysterious garden, Minos has hidden the Minotaur, that monster, half man half bull, whom he feeds on the flesh of young Athenians. “The Minotaur, … in other words,” says Zuinglius, “sin, vice, irreligion, and the foreign service of the Swiss,” devour the sons of his countrymen.

Theseus, a man of courage, wishes to deliver his country, but numerous obstacles arrest him;—first, a lion with one eye; this is Spain and Arragon;—then a crowned eagle, whose throat is opened to devour it; this is the empire;—then a cock, with his comb up, and calling for battle; this is France. The hero surmounts all these obstacles, gets up to the monster, stabs it, and saves his country.

“So now,” exclaims the poet, “men wander in a labyrinth, but having no thread to guide them they cannot regain the light. No where is there any imitation of Jesus Christ. A little glory makes us hazard our life, torment our neighbour, rush into strife, war, and combat … One would say that the furies have escaped from the depths of hell.” A Theseus, a Reformer was required. Zuinglius perceived this, and thenceforth had a presentiment of his mission. Not long after he composed an allegory with a still clearer application. In April, 1512, the confederates rose anew at the bidding of the cardinal, for the deliverance of the Church. Glaris was in the foremost rank. The whole population was brought into the field, ranged round their banner with their landaman and their pastor. Zuinglius behoved to march. The army passed the Alps, and the cardinal appeared amidst the confederates with the presents given him by the pope,—a ducal hat adorned with pearls and gold, and surmounted by the Holy Spirit, represented under the form of a dove. The Swiss escaladed the fortresses and towns, swam rivers in the presence of the enemy, unclothed, and with halberds in their hands; the French were every where put to flight; bells and trumpets resounded, and the population flocked from all quarters; the nobles supplied the army with wine and fruits in abundance; the monks and priests mounted on platforms, and proclaimed, that the confederates were the people of God taking vengeance on the enemies of the Lord’s spouse; and the pope becoming prophet, like Caiaphas of old, gave the confederates the title of “Defenders of the liberty of the Church.” This sojourn of Zuinglius in Italy was not without its effect, in reference to his vocation of Reformer. On his return from this campaign, he began to study Greek, “in order,” says he, “to be able to draw the doctrine of Jesus Christ from the very fountain of truth.” Writing to Vadian, 23rd February, 1513, he says, “I have resolved so to apply myself to the study of Greek, that none will be able to turn me from it but God. I do it not for fame, but from love to sacred literature.” At a later period, a worthy priest, who had been his school companion, having come to pay him a visit, said to him, “Master Ulric, I am assured that you are tainted with the new heresy, that you are a Lutheran.” “I am not a Lutheran,” said Zuinglius, “for I knew Greek before I heard of the name of Luther.” To know Greek, to study the gospel in the original tongue, was, according to Zuinglius, the basis of the Reformation.

Zuinglins did more than recognise, at this early period, the great principle of evangelical Christianity—the infallible authority of the Holy Scriptures. Besides this, he understood how the meaning of the divine Word ought to be ascertained. “Those,” said he, “have a very grovelling idea of the Scriptures who regard whatever seems to them at variance with their own reason as frivolous, vain, and unjust. Men have no right to bind the gospel at pleasure to their own sense, and their own interpretation.”⁵ “Zuinglius raised his eye to heaven,” said his dearest friend, “unwilling to have any other interpreter than the Holy Spirit himself.”

Such, from the commencement of his career, was the man whom some have not scrupled to represent as having wished to subject the Bible to human reason. “Philosophy and theology,” said he, “ceased not to raise up objections against me. I, at length, arrived at this conclusion, ‘We must leave all these things, and seek our knowledge of God only in his Word.’ I began,” continues he, “earnestly to supplicate the Lord to give me his light, and though I read only the text of Scripture, it became far clearer to me than if I had read a host of commentators.” Comparing the Scriptures with themselves and explaining passages that were obscure by such as were more clear, he soon had a thorough knowledge of the Bible, especially the New Testament.

² When Zuinglius thus turned toward the Holy Scriptures, Switzerland took her first step in the Reformation. Accordingly, when he expounded the Scriptures, every one felt that his lessons came from God, and not from man. “Work all divine!” here exlaims Oswald Myconius; “thus was the knowledge of heavenly truth restored to us!”

Zuinglius did not, however, despise the expositions of the most celebrated doctors: at a later period, he studied Origen, Ambrose, Jerome, Augustine, Chrysostom, but not as authorities. “I study the doctors,” says he, “with the same feelings with which one asks a friend, ‘What do you understand by this?’ ” The Holy Scripture was, according to him, the touch-stone by which the most holy of the doctors were themselves to be tested.

Zuinglius’s step was slow, but progressive. He did not come to the truth like Luther amid those tempests which compel the soul to seek a speedy shelter. He arrived at it by the peaceful influence of Scripture, whose power gradually gains upon the heart. Luther reached the wished-for shore across the billows of the boundless deep; Zuinglius, by allowing himself to glide along the stream. These are the two principal ways by which God leads men. Zuinglius was not fully converted to God and his gospel till the first period of his sojourn at Zurich; yet, in 1514 or 1515, at the moment when the strong man began to bend the knee to God, praying for the understanding of his Word, the rays of that pure light by which he was afterwards illumined, first began to gleam upon him. At this period, a poem of Erasmus, in which Jesus Christ was introduced addressing man as perishing by his own fault, made a powerful impression on Zuinglius. When alone in his study, he repeated the passage in which Jesus complains that all grace is not sought from him, though he is the source of all that is good. “All!” said Zuinglius, “All!” And this word was incessantly present to his mind. “Are there then creatures, saints, from whom we ought to ask assistance? No! Christ is our only treasure.”

Zuinglius did not confine his reading to Christian writings. One of the distinguishing characteristics of the sixteenth century is the profound study of the Greek and Roman authors. The poetry of Hesiod, Homer, Pindar, enraptured him, and he has left us commentaries, or characteristics, on the two last poets. It seemed to him that Pindar spoke of his gods in such sublime strains that he must have had some presentiment of the true God. He studied Cicero and Demosthenes thoroughly, and learned from them both the art of the orator and the duties of the citizen. He called Seneca a holy man. The Swiss mountaineer loved also to initiate himself in the mysteries of nature, through the writings of Pliny. Thucydides, Sallust, Livy, Cæsar, Suetonius, Plutarch, and Tacitus, taught him to know the world. He has been censured for his enthusiastic admiration of the great men of antiquity, and it is true that some of his observations on this subject cannot be defended. But if he honoured them so much, it was because he thought he saw in them not human virtues, but the influence of the Holy Spirit. The agency of God, far from confining itself to ancient times within the limits of Palestine, extended, according to him, to the whole world. “Plato,” said he, “has also drunk at the Divine source. And if the two Catos, if Camillus, if Scipio had not been truly religious, would they have been so magnanimous?”²

Zuinglius diffused around him a love of letters. Several choice youths were trained in his school. “You offered me not only books, but also yourself,” wrote Valentine Tschudi, son of one of the heroes of the wars of Burgundy; and this young man, who at that time had already studied at Vienna and Bâle, under the most celebrated teachers, adds, “I have never met with any one who explained the classics with so much precision and profundity as yourself.” Tschudi repaired to Paris, and was able to compare the spirit which prevailed in that university, with that which he had found in the narrow Alpine valley, over which impend the gigantic peaks and eternal snows of the Dodi, the Glarnisch, the Viggis, and the Freyberg. “How frivolously,” says he, “the French youth are educated! No poison is so bad as the sophistical art in which they are trained—an art which stupifies the senses, destroys the judgment, brutifies the whole man. Man is thenceforth, like the echo, an empty sound. Ten women could not keep pace with one of these rhetoricians. In their prayers even they present their sophisms to God, (I know the fact,) and pretend, by their syllogisms, to constrain the Holy Spirit to hear them.” Such, then, were Paris and Glaris; the intellectual metropolis of Christendom, and a village of Alpine shepherds. A ray of the Divine Word gives more light than all human wisdom.